SONG of EMBER

4

THE GOSSIPERS

🙜

Ember strode up the path to town, whistling as he walked. He shoved a hand into his pocket, fingering a polished river stone which had appeared on his stoop that morning. For three long weeks, he had slept with his hunting knife under his pillow and walked with the fishing spear slung across his back. On rainy mornings he was extra careful while checking the nets, for the pattering rain on leaves and water might mask the creature's approach.

Several times he had been drawn to the river's edge by splashing and returned to find a flower, fish, or stone left on his doorstep—usually accompanied by a puddle of water or a few damp footprints on the path. The most recent item to appear was a rusty knife he'd lost along the riverbank last summer and despaired of ever finding again.

He had begun to catch more fish, his nets remained mostly in one piece, and now and then he would find another gift on his stoop—and decide on something else to leave in its place.

This morning it had been some freshly picked wildflowers and a small sachet of local herbs which he thought it might appreciate.

As he neared the town square, his steps became slower.

He knew he’d made rather a nuisance of himself asking questions about the river folk, and was gaining a reputation to which he wasn't entirely prepared to commit. The more superstitious farmers were beginning to avoid him whenever they saw him coming, which was not only bad business but also gave Ember the uncomfortable suspicion that perhaps they had good reason to.

The women who gossiped in the square hadn’t been able tell him more than he already knew, and kept repeating one or two outlandish stories about the fabled Great War between men and the people of the river—a happening that was widely disputed and one which Ember very much doubted to begin with.

But a few reclusive souls were scattered across the valley, and those were the people whose stories he most enjoyed. Ember had to seek them out on their own plots of land, as they rarely or never came to town and seldom answered whoever dared come calling. The first time he'd ventured out to one of those lonely farms, a hollow-cheeked woman had opened the door and slammed it again directly at the mention of the river-folk; after that, Ember had taken care to be less direct about his reasons for visiting.

Nonetheless, something felt different in town that morning.

People moved about their business as usual, bartering for goods and chatting with friends, but as he passed them, their glances grew more furtive and their voices hushed.

He smiled at a few of them and bid them good day, but they kept to themselves and made no reply. His gut clenched, and he swallowed, but kept moving in the direction of the tavern. He had come to town for a drink and small talk with the men, but the closer he got, the less appealing the prospect became.

What had changed?

Had something happened in town?

He was almost to the tavern steps when he caught sight of a slender figure standing near Lundr’s cart.

Isabel.

She watched him shrewdly for a moment, and then lifted her chin and strode across the empty square with purpose, brushing past him in a manner that he would have considered an insult from anyone else.

Something crinkled in his hand, and for a moment he thrilled at the touch of her warm skin on his. When she had passed, he held up the note in dismay—for a note it was, and he had never picked up his sister’s knack for reading.

At last, after much squinting, he was able to make out a few familiar words:

Come

Tea

My house, today

Eat this note

Ember wrinkled his brow, somewhat confused.

Eat the note?

He peered at the last line, hoping for clarification.

Trouble

He crumpled the note in his fist, suddenly aware of all the townspeople staring openly at him. He hesitated, keenly aware that it would be more conspicuous if he swallowed the paper as requested. Alden stepped onto the tavern porch, burly arms crossed, and frowned at him.

Ember crammed the note in his pocket and glared at them all in turn.

“You got something to say, then say it,” he snapped.

But for once, the town was at a loss for words—or they were too abashed to speak. Had Alden intimidated them?

Ember tried to slip away through the crowd, and glanced up just as Lundr darted aside, refusing to meet his eyes. A gathering of old women whispered among themselves from afar, and Willifrey peered anxiously at him out of the corner of his eye while pretending to dust off his hat.

No, he decided. They’re afraid of me.